The startled birds radiated outward along with the horrible sound.
The pain was unbearable, compounded by the muteness.
Limb was rend , agonisingly, from limb.
A gentle, generous life, chopped down in its prime.
The leaves susurrated their fright to the world, in vain.
Last month four trees were murdered in our area. The powers-that-be say it wasn't murder. They say it is PROGRESS.
For the sap that curdled and died.
For the leaves that will rustle no more.
For the many generations that lived their stories under the trees. The first kiss, the laughter, the banter, the furtive cigarettes, the meeting up for movies, the arguments, the fights, the unending tea, the friendships, the sighs, the cheers. Gone, all gone.
For the proud trunks chopped up into frail toothpicks.
For the innocent many, who, in their naivete, worshipped the trees, believing in the sacredness of life in all forms.
For the innocent many who are yet to come, who will never know what they've already lost.
For the toothless infant who'll gurgle at a scampering squirrel no more.
the marvel of it all. To take in air and water and create magic. The magic of lightness, beauty, shade, coolness, peace, serenity. All gone, gone forever.
At a world gone mad, that so easily destroys what it can never create.
The raindrops that hurtle to their death without the leaves to catch them and let them down, gently, to earth.
At the seas who keep moving farther inland in search of their green friends.
At the angry sun who pours his withering, hot scorn on us with scorching intensity.
And when the throat dries up, have a fucking beer and burger in your air-conditioned car parked at that very spot.